I've always thought that my parents drew a random name out of the proverbial hat when it came to naming me, but after twenty odd years of knowing the both of them, especially my mother, I've come to the conclusion that they are both evil.

True story.

Countless kids and their Rush Hour jokes later, I snapped and decided to introduce one kid's face to the hardcover of my maths textbook. I'll bet the other Jackie Chan can't do that! It took yet more countless kids, and quite a few adults, until I finally grew immune enough to cracks about my name not to succumb to any homicidal urges.

People are generally mature about it, now that I'm out of school. The few people who still consider my name joke worthy were friends who did it out of affection and, most likely, the urge to annoy me.

Dorian, I suspected, did it more often out of the latter than anything else. He was one of the lab rats that spent most of the time doing CSI type stuff, but without the fancy equipment under UV lighting or funky background music. In any other environment, we probably wouldn't be friends. But we'd bonded over the past year or so since I started working with the police due to the both of us been victims of unfortunate names . That and the fact that we manage to do our job with our brains seemed to piss off the other coppers who thought their taser was the solution to everything.

He was nowhere to be found as the doors to the lab hissed open and I made my way into the cluttered domain that was Dorian Jackson's kingdom. A plastic partition separated the large room into two halves, with a long metal table in one and all the microscope-test-tube hoo-ha in the other. The lab doubled up as a chemical analysis lab as well as a pathology lab. Dorian, the damn brain case, had a double major in pathology as well as analytical chemistry, making him the perfect employee for the underfunded department.

Even though I always dropped by whenever I came to the station, if only to steal one of his Krispy Kreme donuts, I wanted to talk to him about this latest case since his name appeared under the lab analysis results.

I slipped past the opaque plastic sheath in the centre of the room and came face to face with the latest victim of the case lying on the metal table. The gaping hole where the girl's chest used to be told me that she'd already been to the coroner's, which made her presence here highly unnecessary.

Picking up the manila folder Dorian had left open, I scanned the details I'd already familiarised myself with up in the meeting room during Captain Reynold's briefing. How horrible it must have been to die from suffocation. The air barred from her lungs no matter how hard she gasped and struggled while the bastard who left the finger-shaped bruises on her wrists held her down. Granted, some of the signs on the body didn't match your typical asphyxiation cases, but the human body was unique and responded to things differently depending on the person, so any number of random factors could have contributed to them. So why was this one lying in Dorian's bat cave?

"Why has Dorian got you down here all cold and alone?" I murmur softly to the body.

"Because he knew I was a big fan of Jackie Chan and wanted to do whatever he could to help a poor, little dead girl."

I barely just managed not to jump out of my skin at the croak that seemed to emit from the table the body was lying on.

"Jackson, you freaking crap head."

"I totally got you!" Said crap head emerged from under the metal table sniggering as he always did after pulling off another prank.

"Did not!" I snapped a little too defensively and a little too quickly. The effort of trying not to appear caught out only made me go redder.

"Your denial only adds to your transparency, Chan." He nodded sagely.

I wanted to shove his head into the open chest cavity of the body lying before us, but I figured the girl already suffered enough. She didn't need two idiots playing practical jokes with her body, anymore than Dorian had already done, on top of being dead.

"What's the deal, dude?" I gestured at the body.

His face took on a more sombre look, sharply contrasting with the mischievous sparkle in his green eyes a moment ago.

"I'm not sure yet."

"What do you mean you're not sure yet? Is there something to be doubtful about?" I asked. Dorian never spent more time than necessary on a case. The fact that he was looking over the body after it had been officially signed off by the coroner probably meant that something was missed, and he was going to have a grand old time embarrassing the heck out of whoever's signature was on the report.

This was the very reason Dorian never got on with people at the station, irreverent larrikin that he was. It was also the reason why we got on so well.

Snapping out of his little Sherlock Holmes impression, Dorian gave me one of his sunny smiles, revealing even white teeth with a little extra lift on one corner of his mouth. "Of course there's something to be doubtful about, there always is! Right now it's why you are wearing a skirt!" He exclaimed like the drama queen he could be.

" Back off, man. I can wear a skirt if I feel like. And it's like a hundred degrees out there!"

"Celsius or Fahrenheit?" He lifted a brow regally. Damn him, I've always wanted to be able to do that.

"Which ever one's hotter. But I guess you'd never know. You probably haven't seen daylight in years, always playing with test-tubes down here, getting fed your donuts and coke by a tube that leads up to the surface."

"You're just jealous 'cos your brain's not big enough to get this job. You wish you lived down here on sugar and caffeine."

"Yeah, yeah. My brain's not big enough. Then why don't you make your huge one do me a few favours?"

Dorian assumed a delighted expression and glanced down casually at the zipper on his jeans. "Why, thank you, Chan. My huge one and I appreciate your honest observation, but I'm afraid we're too tired from pleasing all the ladies to be of much use to you today."

He was lucky there were no scalpels or any other sharp metal instruments within reaching distance. I tried hard not to roll my eyes. Dorian always brought out the immature young adolescent in me.

"Seriously though, you got anything helpful for me on the case? The captain's pretty eager to catch this guy."

"Of course he does. How many serial killers do we get in this lazy arse neighbourhood? This one's going on his file for a promotion."

"I don't blame him. I'd want to get my hands on anything I can to get out of this place as well. We're so underfunded and nothing ever happens in this lazy arse suburb."

Dorian mock gasped and said in a wounded tone, "you'd leave me here with the rest of these idiots?!"

"You coped pretty well before the captain decided to hire me to help with the large Asian population here."

"But now that I have known you, I can't ever let you go! Oh, how did I ever live these twenty odd years of my life without the brilliance of your presence!" Dorian dragged his hands over his heart.

"Oh please. Save your charm for some other hapless policewoman. I know it when I see a tool, I'm the private dick." I said in a voice that suggested I was above Dorian's brand of crooked charm that worked oddly well with women.

"I love it when you talk dirty."

I gave in to the urge to roll my eyes and made like a fifteen year old. "Do you have anything for me or not?"

"You mean besides this sexy piece of man meat?" He put up a hand in placation when my eyes threatened to roll right out of their sockets. "Okay, okay. There's nothing much to tell that you haven't read in the file already. All the evidence has been gone over by me and the other guys, not a trace of DNA to be found. This killer knows was very careful."

"Then why do you have the body here all spread out like Christmas lunch?"

"First, that's disgusting, Chan." Dorian gave me an appropriately disgusted look. "And second, the body's here because I get the feeling that this is not the first time we've seen it."

"The body? Of course it's the first time we've seen it."

"No, I meant the way she died. There are some minute details that remind of the Henry case, but they're not consistent enough to be identical."

Cold fingers trailed their way down my spine. The Henry case. My first major case that also brought me to work with the police. I don't think I'll ever forget those two months on the case trying to find the person who did that to Tina. Tina who had the nicest laugh and loved spring even though the hay fever made her eyes water like crazy. Her wide, lifeless eyes... Man, it was still hard to think about.

"Jackie?" I looked up to see Dorian's eyes clouded with concern, and managed to give a weak grin.

"Well, if there are any connections, I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out with one of your huge organs."

"I'll make sure to let you be the first one to know if I find something." Dorian said. "Meanwhile, just...take care, okay? I know that case was considered closed and sealed, but we all know there were some loose ends."

"Sure, thanks." I was a little touched by Dorian's consideration. "You too."

"Don't you worry about me, there's a long waiting list of ladies just waiting to take care of me and my giant brain." Dorian laughed.

I succumbed to one last eye roll and nabbed another donut on my way out.

Miraculously, I walked out of the station without trading any more insults with Chris at the service desk on my way out, which was a shame, since I'd gotten used to the air conditioning and could stopped sneezing long enough to offer better comebacks without sounding like I had a cold.

He was on the phone looking thoroughly harassed, handling some sort of petty domestic disturbance call judging by the shrill voice shrieking about a "wanker husband" from the other end.

Poor guy. Not!

I paused outside the station and checked that trail of thought. I just couldn't help thinking with the mental maturity of a fifteen year old when I got annoyed.

No. I mentally reprimanded myself. I am a serious detective who should act professionally at all times and to all persons, even bitchy twits like Daniel who-

"Ow!"

I was sent sprawling on the pavement as the door behind me swung open with enough force to power a bloody rocket launch. The scalding concrete felt searing to the touch as I reached out a hand to break my fall.

"Fudge cakes!" I cursed while inspecting my scratched palm, completely forgetting that getting so distracted that an opening door could make me perform such an undignified fall and substituting "fudge cakes" for an expletive were anything but mature and professional.

So much for the self pep talk.

Suddenly feeling pressure under my arms, I was lifted in a decidedly effortless manner by someone behind me.

It was so unexpected I didn't even protest as the same person turned me and took my bloody hand into theirs.

Into his.

I say his because I first took in the hands that held mine in a firm but gentle grip, the tanned skin covering long, tapered fingers that belonged dancing on piano keys. A long slash of scar tissue ran across the left hand, from the back of the thumb to inside the palm, almost tracing the lifeline.

I knew instinctively they belonged to a guy. The suit behind the hands left me in no doubt.

Eye level with the starchy whiteness of his shirt, I felt the strange compulsion to take in every detail of him. The smoothness of his blazer, the glint of sunlight from his tie-clip, the smell of something earthy and most significantly, the distinct advantage in height, judging from how the top of my head just barely levelled with his shoulders.

I looked up.

And up.

And thought it illegal how someone was allowed to be born with such excellent genes.

Chiselled jaw line? Check.

High cheek bones? Check.

Tousled locks the colour of midnight? Check.

Eyes the colour of the Gold Coast sea that were currently boring holes into my suddenly boring brown ones? Check.

Drool making its way down my chin? Check that box twice!

Which is all the more amazing that I managed to choke out in a normal voice, "You made me fall."

Gold Coast Eyes said nothing, reached into his blazer's inner breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief which he promptly bandaged my abraded palm with.

The "thanks" in my throat somehow made it out as "Who the hell still carries a handkerchief with them these days?" Which was a valid question, since it was the bloody 21st century. Maybe he'd like to lay down his blazer on a wet patch for me as well.

He examined the makeshift bandage he made.

"Use some disinfectant to prevent infection after you get home."

His voice was rough and soft at the same time. Like gravel against satin.

He kept holding my hand, longer than it took for the show of concern. For a moment I thought...well, I don't know what I thought, but he put a manila folder into that hand and put a stop to my unusual awareness of him.

"Alex Fields." He said by way of introduction. "The captain wants you to read over this and to direct any queries to me."

I nodded dumbly, but had no time to ask why this wasn't given to me by the captain himself inside before he disappeared into the station again. Who was this guy and why would I ask him any questions?

It was only until I'd driven off with the folder did I realise that he never apologised for making me fall.

I could hear the shrill peal of the phone as I fumbled for the keys in my pocket. That was when I realised the skirt I'd hastily pulled on in the morning had no pockets, and the only keys I had on my person were for the car.

"Frick." I told the door that remained resolutely locked in front of me.

It stayed silent.

There was no other way but to stand on the railings on the balcony of Mrs. Ganson on ground floor and climb onto my balcony.

I swear, the only exercise I'm getting these days are from my having to climb the building whenever I forget my keys.

To lighten up the situation, I pictured what I'd look like hanging onto the edge of my balcony like a kid hanging off the 20 metre diving board after chickening out, trying to hoist myself up with what little muscles I possessed.

A flash of movement from inside the open window on my balcony caught my eyes.

I froze.

Possibilities of robbers and psycho killers ran through my mind. All the breaking and entering cases I'd ever heard about or handled rushed back.

My over active imagination started drawing up a whole narrative of desperate criminals caught during the act by the home owner, hanging off the balcony by her fingers.

That was one of my problems, for all my bravado and fat jokes in front of tossers like Simmons, I'd instinctually freeze in moments of emergency. Instead of fight or flight, my brain cocoons itself in bubble wrap and runs a reel of the most situationally inappropriate thoughts instead. Give me a case file with all the evidence and I'll Sherlock Holmes the hell out of it. But field work? I'd turn into J.D. in Sacred Hearts. This was probably why I'm not the most popular gal at the station, they don't like been upstaged by little Asian girls who solve cases on paper like calculus and didn't, as they say, "do any real work".

The bastards.

Just as I was wondering whether the robber, or robbers, if there were more than one, would stomp on my fingers after going through my tastefully questionable CD collection until I fell to my death in a short 3 metres down, a sharp sting on my ankle abruptly woke my mind from its fuzzy crisis response.

"Ow!" I gasped, forgetting that if I had not alerted my presence to the intruders already, they certainly would know now.

And then any chances of remaining inconspicuous was slaughtered, just like the silence that was replaced by the sound of Mrs. Ganson's banshee-like voice from below me.

My down stairs neighbour seemed to have decided to go to the balcony, probably to smoke at the world since that's all she ever did since she set off the smoke alarms one night and an indoor smoking ban was put in place. She didn't seem to like the sight of my legs hanging next to her long-dead pot plants.

I wasn't surprised. She didn't like it last time either. Or the time before that.

Another one of my problems, forgetting keys so I had to climb through the balcony more often than my neighbours would like. Especially Mrs. Ganson.

Her sharp taps did serve to drive me upward, however, and I managed to pull myself up and over the railings that fenced the balcony in my attempt to escape her.

Quickly making my way inside, I surveyed every room in the flat for signs of intrusion. Missing valuables, up turned furniture, I expected a mess, well, a bigger mess than usual - I'm what my mum calls talented, I don't create mess, it trails in my wake in worship. Heh.

Not a thing was different in the two bedroom flat. There was not even a note next to my stack of CDs condemning the presence of the Backstreet Boys.

I jumped as the shrill peal of the phone screamed. The sound felt jarring and ominous as my mind calmed down and had just started to accept that my flat had not been broken into. I approached it reluctantly, as if having sort of escaped one possible bad event, one worse was about to strike in replacement. God's little f*** you, as it were.

Sure enough, my apprehension was justified.

It was my mother.

She wanted me over for dinner. And before hanging up, told me to wear a skirt, which could only mean that we'd have a guest for dinner. Some nice boy, probably a son or nephew of one of her acquaintances.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

If I went, I'd be subjected to the most poorly disguised match making attempts on my mother's part, not unlike Mrs. Bennet's efforts in P&P. If I didn't go, it'll be old pizza and dubiously dated yoghurt for dinner, and probably for the week or so after, knowing how my mum will react to my no-show after explicitly hinting at the presence of a "guest".

This really was worse than having robbers break in and seeing the Best of the Backstreet Boys in my CD rack.

In my defense, it was a gift.

Another morning, another rude awakening. The phone's ringing ripped me from a lovely dream of serving Simmons as the main course at a dinner party in which Elmo and Dr. Who were guests, proving finally that he really is nothing but a lump of over ripe meat and, to my mother who was also invited, that I can cook.

No wonder I had the bizarre dream. Last night was a total success, and by "success" I really mean biggest disaster since my high school banned all lollies from the canteen when I was in year 10. My mum managed to make everyone and everything uncomfortable by bringing out the family photographs for my potential future hubby. The guy, who mum graciously pointed out was studying law, took one look at me rolling in mud aged five and probably committed mental suicide.

I swear, even the air conditioner felt embarrassed for me and decided to cough out its last breath of cool air after we went through three albums of old photographs.

To make everything worse, my mum insisted that I drive the guy home since he didn't bring his car. The she-devil that she was, I wouldn't put it past my mother to have somehow arranged this.

By silent mutual agreement, I stopped at the nearest train station and my "boyfriend" was gone before the last syllable of his hasty goodbye reached my ears.

As a result, I didn't manage to get home until almost midnight and didn't get to sleep until two hours after that.

The ringing seemed to go on forever, but stopped just as I drifted into a state of semi-wakefulness that made falling asleep again difficult. Almost immediately, my mobile picked up where the landline left off. The persistent ringing made me feel like I was back in high school again, when my mum would wake me on weekday mornings with a continuous tapping on my bedroom door that was innocuous, yet just annoying enough to keep me from falling asleep again. Oh well, might as answer it.

I rolled over and promptly fell off the bed. Stumbling into the living room and sliding the mobile open, I croaked a greeting only to be answered by the busy tone.

Dammit.

I briefly toyed with the temptation to smash the mobile against a wall, but figured it wouldn't go down well with my parents if they couldn't reach me twenty-four hours a day to make sure I'm eating properly and not hanging out at "bad places", as if there were nice places anymore.

I went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. While waiting for the water to boil I opened cupboards to briefly take inventory. Hmmm...note to self, drop by Woolworths and pick up everything. Sometimes even I'm amazed at how sadly un-domestic I was.

The water had yet to start boiling, so I was able to the sound of rustling just outside my front door, as it was directly opposite the kitchen. It was followed by a clear knock. I tensed at the sounds and the paranoia of yesterday came rushing back. Never mind that even if there were intruders in my flat yesterday, they wouldn't be politely knocking on my door the next morning to apologise for the disturbance and suggest that I improve my CD collection.

I grabbed a frying pan resting on the stove and crept slowly to the door. There were no more knocking, but I could still hear the faint shuffling sound behind the door that suggested that whoever had knocked was still there.

I rose to the tip of my toes and looked through the peep hole, and reared back in surprise.

Gold Coast Eyes from yesterday?

Never had I been more aware of the obtuse angles at which my hair had managed to manoeuvre itself into standing during the night than when I opened the door to Alex Field's disgustingly neat suit and hair. Only a single wavy strand lay wayward near an eye. I pictured him combing his hair in the morning, scowling a little at the stubborn strand of hair and finally giving up with an elegant shrug--

"Chan!"

"Wh-what?" I snapped out of the inappropriate day dream.

"What happened? I called both your home phone and mobile."

"That was you? I was asleep and when I got to the phone you'd already hung up."

It was then that I noticed his chest rising and falling a little rapidly.

"What did you think was happening?" I asked suspiciously.

He looked piqued. I tried not to dwell on how it made him seem kind of cute.

"Did you read the file at all?"

"What file--" My brain decided then to open shop for the day and made a mental beeline for the passenger seat of my car where the file still sat from when I tossed it there yesterday after getting into the car.

As if following my mental progress, Fields said, "Yeah, that file.

I wasn't sure what to say. Not knowing the importance of the file, I couldn't just dismiss it. But I didn't like the way Fields was acting, as if I was the naughty child who didn't do her homework. I'm not normally one for putting off work related to a case, but what with the break-in in my head and late night at my parents' with prospective husband, I'd forgotten about the file completely.

"Tell me, is it in your habit to leave case files lying around when you'd received explicit instructions to read them?" His eyes were now an icy blue.

I narrowed my eyes at his tone of voice. Who the hell was this guy anyway? Right then, I didn't care if he was a new recruit or transfer officer at the station, just one more arsehole to set straight that I was not the weak little P.I. to be pushed around.

"Tell me, is it part of your douche bag training to push people over without apologising and harassing your victim at ungodly hours in the morning or were you just born that way?"

He looked momentarily stunned at my retort. I knew it, he was just another one of those guys used to getting their way and not having people talk back. I was preparing to deliver another piece of my mind when he cut me short.

"If harassing you means making sure you're still alive, then I'm fine with being a...as you say douche bag."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He didn't reply immediately. The pause only made what he said more ominous.

"You should read the file first, then you can ask me questions."

"I thought the file was extra stuff on the current case Reynold wanted me to check with the local Asians?"

He looked grave, too grave. I didn't like how I kept thinking the word grave when he was talking about checking to see if I was alive.

"You should read the f--"

"Just tell me!" My voice rose a few notes.

He looked me in the eyes and seemed to come to a decision. "We have reason to believe that the current case is linked to the Henry case from last June. You might be in danger."

The Henry case.

Tina's eyes, wide and staring...

I forced myself to shake off the chill like I did those few weeks after the case had closed. But the leaden weight stayed in my stomach.

"Why would I be in danger? I was just a private detective working on the side lines." I could only work on the side lines. Too close to the victim, the police's excuse to make me butt out of their big case. But I made sure I was there the whole, made sure the guy as caught, even if none knew the extent of my involvement. Not even Dorian.

Fields' eyes pinned mine for long moments. I had the uneasy feeling that he could read my mind. And that he didn't need to, because he knew everything already.

"You were quite busy on the side line. No one with the police may have noticed, but someone close to Henry did. And they might be after you for putting Henry away. Now you can either pretend you have no idea what I'm on about, or you can come with me."

"Where?"

"The cafe across the street. I make it a habit to get to know my new partner over coffee."

No freaking way. Partner? This guy? Never mind that I'm strictly the lone wolf when it comes to work, this guy could blow the whistle on everything and potentially cost me my career in Sydney!

"I don't drink coffee, only tea." Somehow I still managed to be defiant when backed into a corner.

Fields only smiled and flashed me his pearly whites.

"Then tea it is. Partner."

Somewhere inside my flat, the kettle whistled.